Shellshock
by Laura135
Summary: In a world of darkness sometimes all you have are your memories. DG ONESHOT


**A.N **Ok here's something I wrote awhile ago and decided it was finally time to post.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

**Shell Shock**

_"You forgot, didn't you?"_

_"I...I don't remember anything."_

_"No..." _a sigh, rustling cloth,_ "no I suppose you wouldn't, they said you might not,"_

_"Who are they?"_

_"The people who are looking after you."_

_"Oh...aren't you looking after me?"_

_"No, i'm just here."_ Did her voice catch when she said that? Or was I imagining things? I lived in a world of sounds now.

I wanted to know why, wanted to know who she was, wanted to ask so many questions but somehow I just...couldn't. Conversation weakened me, thinking about what to say tired me further. Sometimes I wondered at how I had so much to think about when I remembered so little. There had been a war...hadn't there? I could remember the screams, a scream, a voice, a fleeting impression of running footsteps and shouted incantations. The curse that blinded me, the aftermath, the deperate fear of not being able to see anything, but I could hear, I could hear every little sound, my senses heightened a hundrefold by an almost debilitating fear. The absolute horror.

It was war, I reasoned, it must have been.

Sometimes I would summon the strength to ask her, who she was, what she wanted with me. My mouth would open, form the words, and I would open my eyes to the darkness of the bandages, so convinced that I would see _something._

And a nurses voice would interrupt, was I alright? Had I been dreaming?

It must have been a dream, she must have been a dream, a voice so sweet, so soothing, didn't exist in real life, reality was harsh, reality was realistic. I had to focus on what was real. _She wasn't real._

I had to remember, to think back, but what did I remember? The screams of the dying, or the tortured; cruel, maniacal laughter; pain.

But what else? What next? I'd lost time, there had been curses, injections, healers, voices, questions, and then this, a kind of everlasting darkness punctuated by the occasional visitor.

_"Draco?"_ Soft, hesitant, so unbearably vulnerable.

_"You're not real."_

_"How can you say that?"_ The sound of her breathing quickening.

_"Because it's true."_

_"You are an idiot Draco Malfoy."_ her footsteps, leaving, what a detailed hallucination, I found himself thinking.

I remembered a room, at night, a warm body curled around mines, her breathing the only sound aside from my hearbeat, soothing her to sleep. Who was she? Another dream, I doubted i'd ever been so happy. Choose another one.

First year, the sorting hat on my head, instantly sorting me into Slytherin it's the parting words, _you'll go far_; second year, the fearful, excited anticipation, the stories of the Chamber; third year, a silvery stag chasing me across the Quidditch Pitch; fourth year, the amazing bouncing ferret; fifth year, cursed into oblivian by a group of students on the Hogwarts Express; Sixth year...no not then. Choose a better one.

Turning up on the Weasley's doorstep, bruised and bloody.

Fighting off the accusations, the suspicous glares, arguing his case for all I was worth, and praying to whatever Gods there were that they would believe me, that it would work out, that I could find redemption as easily as the next man.

A pair of warm brown eyes, a soothing voice, a dream.

_"Draco wake up."_ An authorative tone, tinged with desperation.

_"...I am awake"_

_"Then take off those bloody bandages and _look_ at me."_

_"I can't."_

_"You can, you're just a coward."_ Why did she sound so bitter?

I wasn't a coward, i'd fought, i'd fought for all I was worth and then some, I had the scars to prove it, I even had some of the memories,

But the memories, the memories, ou sont les nieges? Where have all the snows of yesteryear gone? My mother used to quote that to me, when she was feeling reminiscent. She would tell me about her favourite sister, Bella, and her childhood, her school years. How she had met my father, she told me so many things when I was younger. But as I got older she always seemed to be worrying about me, afraid to tell me about her past in case I tried to follow in her footsteps; she would argue with Lucius occasionally, to protect me, shelter me from the adult world in which they lived and the circles in which they moved. I hadn't appreciated it, not one bit, I'd never appreciated her like I should have. No child ever truly comprehends the lengths their parents will go to in order to protect them, and when I thought of just how dedicated my mother had been to my well being...

No, pick another one

My first broom, the feeling of flying, the wind in my hair, my watery eyes, my father and mother standing below and laughing at my antics. They'd been so in love, even then. It seemed hard to imagine now, that we had been a happy family once, that we had laughed together; but as the years went on, the world had changed, my father had grown every more invovled in dark activities, and my mother had grown ever more concerned. I'd despised her worrisome ways. brushed off her concern with all the impatience of youth, hated her constant warnings, advice, weeping. I'd wanted so much to live up to my father's legacy, to follow in his footsteps and show the world that I was worth while, that I would go far. You didn't need to have a scar and a tragic history to be famous, to be great. Glory was there for the taking if you only had the will.

I didn't realise it was a legacy I wouldn't, couldn't, live up to until it was to late.

And the night of that awful realisation, the dawning horror of what I had to do, what I had almost done, was the night Narcissa Malfoy died at the hands of Voldemort in a last ditch desperate attempt to save her son, to save me, ungrateful, unworthy wretch. The night I had escaped by the skin of my teeth, the night I made my way to the Weasley's doorstep after running for hours, apparating constantly, planting a trail as complex as I knew how, before finally finding the one place I'd always sworn I would never enter as long as I lived and thanking the heavens that I had.

"Draco."

Her voice was sharp, and clear and I opened my eyes eager to see the owner, to drink in the sight of her. The bandages had been removed days ago, any moment now I would find out if she was a hallucination. My eyes opened and I squinted even in the dim light of the hospital ward at night, I could make out a form, brown hair, average height, and a wave of disappointment courses through me, but why? It was a female; the voice was familiar; she could easily be the voice I had been hearing.

"Draco I know you can see me." her tone was clipped, controlled, and not her. I sighed and sat up, gingerly settling into the new position.

"Granger." I managed to croak out the greeting and a nod.

"So you'll acknowledge me but not her?" she looked distinctly pissed and I felt a stab of guilt.

"Acknowledge who Hermione? Apart from a series of doctors, annoyingly cheerful nurses and now you i've had no company but my own damned hallucinations and memories." I had been aiming for a grim, if brittle cheer, but even I realised that my voice was more bitter than anything else. The flash of sypathy in her eyes confirmed this. The heavy sigh eboked a grimace.

"She told me you said she wasn't real." she muttered quietly, "But I didn't realise..."

"Didn't realise what?" I demanded, "And if she's real who the hell is she? How do I know her? Why-" here my voice cracked, "Why the hell do I have all these half memories of her and nothing more?"

"You don't remember...i'm not sure if it's my place to tell you." she said finally, her eyes shining with held back tears.

"Hernione _no_," she had to tell me, I needed to know, "Don't do this, I need to know who she is, I can't...I keep dreaming about her, about _someone _and I don't know how to make it _stop_."

"You want it to stop?" she asked, a curious gleam in her eyes.

"I don't know what the hell I want anymore."

"I have to go now." She stood up to leave, her expression solemn, and I knew she wasn't going to tell me a thing. I watched her walk out, barely able to control the surge of emotion that welled up when she stopped by the door.

"When she does come again...don't tell her she's not real."

And then she was gone, leaving me to my thoughts.

I think I must have spent weeks mulling over Hermione's words, she was real. Merlin but she was real. After a while the bandages went back on, they would be taken off for the final time after one week. And still, in the darkness behind my eyes, I thought of her. I dreamt of her, all of my memories and musings were focused on the brief ones I had of _her. _I remembered her eyes most of all, warm, brown, vibrant, deep, enchanting, with the tiniest flecks of glittering gold and green that made them all the more appealing to me. I focused on a memory of her eyes.

"Are you awake?"

A soft, hesitant voice roused me from my musings and my head turned sharply in its direction. In two days the bandages would be gone, but for now all I had to focus on was her voice. For now I knew it was night, visiting hours were long over, but it seemed she had evaded the nurses.

"Yes." Slowly I held out a hand and felt a smaller, more feminine one encompass it. "I...I can't remember who you are."

"I know." she murmured, I was sure she was choked with tears, "I know, i'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Awkwardly I patted the bed beside me and pulled her closer, breathing a sigh of relief when I felt her beside me, stiff and unsure. Equally hesitant I reached out to her and pulled her nearer, her scent encompassing me when she settled against me with a strangled sob, she smelt like Lily's, like purity. "I remember your eyes." I whispered, smiling slightly, "I remember you lying beside me."

There was only silence, and I could feel her tears soaking through my shirt and her body shaking with silent sobs. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry, i'm, so so sorry." her voice was choked, and her hands were running over my face as if trying to memorise it by touch alone. Unsure of myself I found her face and brushed away what tears I could, I didn't want her to be crying.

"It's alright, it is." I murmured making hushing noises and stroking her hair. "I'm here now, i'm alive."

"It's not, I love you, and you don't know who I am." the comment came out in a series of gasps and sobs and my heart wrenched at the sound. She evoked such strong emotions from me, and even if I couldn't remember her name, I remembered so much more about her. I remembered enough to know that I loved this woman. I didn't care what her name was, it didn't matter in the long run.

"No it is." I whispered, "It is alright. Just because I don't remember your name, doesn't mean I don't remember loving you."

**AN: **So it's a bit weird, but I quite like it. constructive criticism is welcome with reviews.


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